#but also Ramsay Bolton and the like

[llutik]

learning names

[atopvisenyashill]

i wonder about ramsay’s death in the books all the time. so far every time a big villain has died, we’ve been completely denied any sort of catharsis. sansa is terrified by joffrey’s death, even reflecting on how empty it feels when her family is dead. gregor kills oberyn before dying, then gets brought back. tywin’s murder at his own son’s hands sets tyrion on a pretty significant downward spiral he’s having a bitch of a time pulling himself out of. craster’s death and the chaos of that fight plunges sam and gilly into a dangerous book long escape that they almost don’t survive. there’s probably 50 other characters you can name. i can see, if walder is killed at a red wedding 2.0, how that can be a tainted moment. but how the hell is ramsay gonna bite it.

[spider-stark]

rewatching game of thrones and—

they didn’t have to make ramsay so hot

[theboyskisser]

I finally doodled my original baes

[squidprince420]

Does anyone know of any characters in TV (or movies) that have a similar dynamic to Jamie Fraser and Jack Randall from Outlander and Theon Greyjoy and Ramsay Bolton from Got? Both storylines in these two shows are so similar and both were so very intriguing to watch, and I'm desperately looking for another show and another set of characters to latch on to right now lmao

I've tried to rewatch TWD as I remember Darryl and Negan having a kinda similar relationship but I couldn't really get into it at all, so I was wondering if anyone knew any shows with similar character dynamics they could recommend?🙏😭

[annachum]

Ramsay Bolton is also inspired by Lord Macbeth

Bran is kinda like Malcolm III of Scotland in spades

Basically the Northern Independence storyline is also like one big twisted Macbeth adaptation

[legends-and-savages]

@popularmxnster sent: ❝ at least take me out to dinner first. ❞ (For Ramsay from Adult!Billy)

𝙼𝙹𝙵 ( 𝙼𝙰𝚇𝚆𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝙹𝙰𝙲𝙾𝙱 𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙳𝙼𝙰𝙽 ) ⋆࿔* 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂| Accepting

Ramsay looked over at the other. A confused look on his features. "Didn't realize dinner needed to happen first." He said. "Thought you would just go along with it."

[devilanon]

me heavily identifying with wounded animal helpless characters and also deeply lusting after their abusers probably says something about me but I haven’t unpacked that yet

[hannigramislife]

If you don't have at least one favorite character that owns the tag "[character] is their own warning" then we can't be friends.

[thecatsaesthetics]

It’s almost like in the world of ASOIAF bastards have a negative stigma and Martin plays on that theme several times throughout the story…

i’m so annoyed at people who criticize every single thing that comes out Tom’s mouth related to Aegon.

They’re trying to say he’s stupid for saying Aegon values his children with Helaena, like what’s not clicking? A prince values his legitimate children rather than his bastards? Wow so shooking

[rig-a-rendal]

im going to say this once and then hopefully never speak of the topic again but actually you know what never mind

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing a Fictional Monster

From Count Dracula to Ramsay Bolton, some of the most memorable characters in literature are monsters. Use these examples and tips to generate great monster ideas for your own writing.

Characteristics of a Monster

The word ‘monster’ stirs up various ideas of traits and psychological aspects of creepy creatures people fear, but there are a number of ways monsters can be portrayed:

Physical characteristics. Monsters can be massive and powerful, like King Kong or Mothra. It can have slimy body parts, rows of sharp teeth, tentacles, a coat of thick armor, or be a completely small and unassuming sort of thing. The physical characteristics of your monster aren’t just for effect, either. Your monster character design should make sense with the background you’ve provided. For example, if it has wings, it should use them to fly. Monsters aren’t decorative—they're reflections of peoples’ deepest rooted fears.

Psychological traits. Some believe that the true monsters are the ones that lurk inside our own minds. Monsters can scare us when they play into phobias, like Pennywise from Stephen King’s It (1986), who appeared as a vicious clown but also took the form of the main characters’ greatest fears. Monsters can also be symbolic or emotional manifestations. Sometimes monsters don’t need to interact with the characters at all—the characters build the fear around the idea of the monster themselves—which can amplify the terror that readers and viewers feel along with them.

Its targets. Does it feed on children? Is it attracted to despair? Does it get violent at the scent of blood? What triggers your monster? When does it appear, and why? Knowing what motivates your monster is the key to figuring out why it behaves the way it does and creates a sense of understanding for your audience.

Its weaknesses. Is there anything that can vanquish your monster? Is it able to be defeated? Does it hate daylight? Giving your monster its own rules and limits can help establish a believable creature. However, lacking a weakness can also be part of your monster’s horror as well.

How to Write a Monster

If you’re looking for how to make a monster of your own, there are a few guidelines you can follow to make your new monster feel like a real monster:

Provide a little background. Your monster may not exist in the real world, but it still needs some logical follow-through. Where did it come from? Why does it look the way it does? Is it man-made like Dr. Frankenstein’s monster in Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (1823)? Or is it a natural creature like Beowulf’s Grendel? You don’t have to answer every question about your monster in your writing (sometimes the unknown is just as scary), however, the audience should know a little background information to envision a full enough picture.

Leave space for the imagination. Even though you want the audience to get a complete picture of your monstrosity, a person’s own imagination can always be scarier than anything someone else could create, like the Jabberwock from Lewis Carroll’s nonsense poem The Jabberwocky (1871). Leaving room for your reader to fill in the gaps may result in them imagining their own worst personal fears in conjunction with whatever horrors you’ve already laid out.

Give it a name. Personifying a monster draws it a little closer into real-life, and giving something a name makes it feel more tangible. Sometimes the fear of a name lies in its ambiguity, like John Carpenter’s ‘The Thing,’ or it can be a name that feels scary and powerful, like Tomoyuki Tanaka’s ‘Godzilla.’ Or sometimes, it’s the existing name of a horrific mythological villain like ‘Typhon.’

Make it hard to kill. Sometimes a monster is relentless and needs to be physically fought, and sometimes there’s a secret or trick to killing it that is unknown until later on in the story. Monsters that cannot be defeated easily create big moments of tension and anticipation for readers and viewers alike. The harder to kill, the scarier they become.

Examples: Monsters in Literature

Monsters can be science fiction creations with gaping maws and poisonous fangs, but they can also be like human beings as well, like a rogue android or possessed parent.

Count Dracula: Infamous vampire from Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1897).

Balrogs: Menacing monsters of fire and shadow in J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series (1937).

Mr. Hyde: Evil alter-ego of the character Dr. Jekyll, from Robert Louis Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886).

The Giant Squid: The monster from the depths in Jules Verne’s classic, Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (1872).

Jack Torrance: The alcoholic father from Stephen King’s The Shining (1977).

Source ⚜ Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[amuelia]

How do you think Roose is going to go out in Winds, will he be killed by Ramsay like in the show (in a very different style, obviously) or is it something a bit unexpected?

Not fond of it being similar to the show version because it implies he's not gonna get a lot of screentime in tWoW; it's also kind of a cheap way to give him "karma" for killing robb by just reversing the roles and having roose be at the receiving end of a murderous betrayal. Note also that Theon is absent from this storyline now (since he escaped), and i'd assume Roose as an important tertiary character would have at least one more big chapter in tWoW, so he probably escapes the Winterfell situation alive at the very least until another PoV crosses his path (Asha?).

If Stannis takes Winterfell, i'd assume Roose would be a prisoner for the moment, maybe saved for a Stark to judge over as a show of goodwill; and whatever "northern conspiracy" payoff there is would probably mean that the northmen distance themselves from him as much as possible and make him the fall guy for the entire red wedding + fallout events (which are mostly his fault anyways). Barbrey as a character likely has been added to the story in aDwD to give a bit of diversity to the northern politics, as someone who is not a stark loyalist and has some closer feelings towards roose but also isnt guilty of the red wedding. I think her role might be that she is a bit of a thorn in the otherwise likely clean consensus on what to do with the Bolton problem and she might argue somewhat in Roose' favour politically (maybe arguing against him being executed or otherwise buying him some time).

And the best sword is the one that cuts both ways, he might tell you. Take the Battle of Green Fork. Had his night march taken Lord Tywin unawares and won the battle, he would have smashed the Lannisters and become the hero of the hour. While if it failed... well, you see what happened. The only way he could lose there would be if were captured or slain himself, and he did his best to minimize the chances of that. - GRRM, SSM Feb 3 2001

Roose' storyline so far has been about how he tries to maximize his profits, while also keeping out of harms way and not getting caught. He acts in ways that are morally reprehensive as long as the result is favourable to him and he can get away with it scot free. Yet come aDwD, we start to see that it is getting harder and harder for him to keep this up:

Roose Bolton said nothing at all. But Theon Greyjoy saw a look in his pale eyes that he had never seen before—an uneasiness, even a hint of fear. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

Ned Stark tried his best to act like a decent person and showed a spine acting openly as such, and after a lifetime of integrity his legacy lives on in his children and people are willing to go to war in his memory. Roose is his foil; he acts morally badly, and spinelessly so as he tries to avoid consequences - so likely as an inversion to Ned his house will go to ruin and the consequences of his actions catch up to him as his modus operandi made him liked by few. So i'd personally find it interesting if he has a fair trial and gets judged the way he deserves, with no way for him to weasel himself out of it again.

My dream tWoW direction would be that he then gets sent to the wall (which also was Ned's initial sentence, another foil moment) and becomes the epilogue PoV and faces an Other - it would be a cool way to hand off the torch from the last big human villain of the wot5k storyline to the center antagonistic force of the war for the dawn storyline (it would also complete the set of Red Wedding architects being epilogue PoVs as the first epilogue in aSoS was a Frey, and the second in aDwD a Lannister). It would also really showcase how inhuman and alien the Others are by taking the coldest and "least humane" human character that everyone jokes is a vampire, and showing that in contrast to them he still is one of us by giving us a view inside his brain and his very human reaction to them.

The real enemy is the cold.  - Prologue, aGoT

Reek wondered if Roose Bolton ever cried. If so, do the tears feel cold upon his cheeks? - Reek III, aDwD

He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks. - Bran III, aGoT

[raventreehall]

a storm of swords dash simulator

🍋ladyjonquil Follow

i don't want to reveal too much but i had a really great day today hawking and riding and received some really exciting news (and maybe a potential marriage offer!) wow wow wow!!! haven't felt like this in so long 🥰

🤡florianthefool Follow

i'm so happy for you my jonquil

🐦littlefinger Follow

thanks for sharing my lady

🏹kissedbyfire Follow

PISSED OFF AT MY BF RN 🤬🤬🤬 NEVER TRUST A SOUTHERNER AND ESPECIALLY NEVER TRUST A CROW!!!!!!!

👸🏼daenerys-targaryen-tracker Follow

🐎raeqqo Follow

by the law of the dothraki she must return to vaes dothrak to take her place alongside the crones of the dosh khaleen. it is known.

🐉3heads Follow

shut up and go sack a defenseless city or something

🍁weirwoodzz Follow

hey do you guys remember when theon greyjoy took winterfell last year and killed the stark boys? has anyone heard anything else about that? feel like it kind of just disappeared from the news cycle, what happened to greyjoy?

🪓cerwynnation Follow

lord bolton's bastard killed him

🍁weirwoodzz Follow

oh really? wow. kind of extreme but deserved i guess

💗ramsays-sharpest-blade Follow

Ramsay isn't a bastard, King Joffrey legitimized him two months ago and Lord Roose is going to make him castellan of the Dreadfort soon. He loves his son and trusts his abilities. Plus, Ramsay is being awarded for his efforts in saving Winterfell and putting a stop to the ironborn raids in the North by being betrothed to Arya Stark—would a bastard be granted that honor? I don't think so.

Also, Theon isn't dead, Ramsay is (rightfully) flaying him for his crimes in the dungeons beneath the Dreadfort. Gods, I'd love to see Ramsay thrust the knife under his skin!!!!! 😜

#ramsay bolton #house bolton #our blades are sharp #theon greyjoy

🐐the-goat Follow

i'm boutta come into thome real money real thoon 😈 💎💎💎💎💯

🏰freygirl73 Follow

ughhhh my sister is getting married tmrw and my brothers keep going on about getting revenge on king robb while he's here for the feast... like i just wanted some food :/// iswtg that's the only good thing about my siblings weddings and now they're saying there won't even be any and i'm gonna have to go into hiding before the bedding ceremony or something. why can't my family just be NORMAL

🐟greenfork Follow

TW: Red Wedding, death, violence

A masterpost on what happened at the Twins and what it means for the Northern independence cause, the War of the Five Kings, and the realm in general.

Also a bunch of links on how you can help people affected in the Riverlands.

Keep Reading

🍵bowlobrown Follow

HELL YEAH BROTHER 🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀

🔥heatofdorne Follow

i wanna ***** ********* on ellaria sand's **** and *** ****** then call in oberyn and ***** **** them both until **** *****

🤎pate7534 Follow

🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀🦀

🌊onthesunsetsea Follow

why are there so many crabs on my dash rn

🐺direwolfing Follow

TYWIN LANNISTER IS DEAD 🦀🦀🦀🦀

💙cassssanna Follow

actually i think it's still for king joffrey

🦁lann1sporter Follow

lol i thought it was for robb stark

🥂arborgold Follow

maybe it's for the mountain?

⬛️ freezingmyarseoffonthewall Follow

DOLOROUS EDD LORD COMMANDER 300 AC

⬛️ freezingmyarseoffonthewall Follow

DOLOROUS EDD WILL LEAD US TO VICTORY AGAINST THE OTHERS

🕊️ just-a-humble-sparrow Follow

mother have mercy i was walking by the great sept of baelor (i wanted to pay my respects to our blessed king joffrey) but i was blocked by a knight of the kingsguard—i believe it was one of the kettleblacks, unfortunately i always forget which one has been elevated to the kingsguard—because the queen was keeping vigil over her son, so i prayed outside instead. yet only a few minutes passed when i swear i saw the kingslayer arrive (he seemed to be missing a hand!) and enter. then, and this is the most disturbing part, i swear to the father that i heard noises of fornication coming from inside! i know for a fact that the only other person inside was the queen mother. could the rumors be true? i feel dirty even writing this. i wonder if i should tell my septon.

❤️‍🔥stannis-sweep Follow

stannis has literally been telling y'all and you didn't listen 🙄

🏳️ bannerless Follow

is it just me or is lady stoneheart kinda 👀

[boltonplaything]

GOT men in the bedroom

Robb Stark: He growls 100% he'll pin you down to the bed, push your legs back until your knees are by your ears and pound into you. He's the type to want you to role play with him in the bedroom. Call him "Your Grace" and he's done for. Playfights and silly games will almost always end up in some passionate lovemaking as well. He's a service Dom for sure, he wants to give you every ounce of pleasure he can and make sure you are thoroughly cared for in every aspect of life

Ned Stark: He seems to be the type to pant and grunt. He'll talk you through it though with that deep rumbling, accented voice. He'll hold you gently which would be a heavy contrast to the urgency in his thrusts. He'd shower you with praise before and after, how gorgeous you are, how lucky he is, how good you feel. He's pretty vanilla but somehow it doesn't take away from the experience.

Jon Snow: He growls and Whimpers depending on if he's the Dom or the sub. If he's the Dom he'll handle you firmly, groaning and growling into your ear about how he's been wanting to fuck you all day. If he's the sub he whines and pants while you fuck him, begging for his release and we can all guess that as a sub he'd cum fast and apologize for it. As either the Dom or the sub his words would become unintelligible after a certain point of bliss. I also feel like he'd be into somno but he'd have to have discussed it in depth with his partner beforehand.

Jaime Lannister: He's a talker, he pants and groans but he's mostly a talker during sex. Everything is teasing and cheeky remarks it doesn't matter what position he's in. He is a tease, he is a flirt, he is an asshole. He'd be fucking you from behind while giving a whole monolog then getting playfully annoyed when you don't know what he's been saying because he's hitting it so well. He'd fuck you till the point where you're shivering but the second he feels your body clench around him, he'll stop and chuckle. Doing it over and over again until eventually he gives in with an "alright alright". If he's the sub he doesn't understand why you won't let him finish ,maybe because he deprives you, but nonetheless he talks the whole time. He'll groan and pant and finally give in and whisper out his pleas. He's a brat and a tease.

Tyrion Lannister: He grunts, every thrust he makes he grunts and curses, he grips you like his life depends on it. If he's the submissive he turns into a whiny pathetic mess, all of his eloquence is lost on him.

Tywin Lannister: Groans and Moans. I wouldn't have said he was a moaner a week ago but in light of recent discoveries he is in fact a moaner. He is not gentle in any aspect either bending you over the nearest surface or wrapping your legs around his waist. He taunts you for how needy you are beneath him, wanting you to stroke his ego. He will never let you be in control and he won't tolerate brat behavior, he wants complete subservience. If you brat during sex you'll regret it severely with him either spanking your ass raw, or edging you for a considerable amount of time. Even if you apologize he won't grant you release. You can possibly appeal to him by calling him by his titles or handing him praise in return.

Joffrey Baratheon: He moans and Whimpers, he likes to say that moaning is womanly but he's so loud and needy when you ride his cock, there's no way he is dominating anyone. If he happens to catch himself moaning he'll whimper on accident as if that makes it any better. He's a brat, he walks around talking about how he's the king and he can do as he likes. He likes to think that this extends into the bedroom, you have to slap him around a bit to get him to apologize, overstimulate him to get him to behave.

Ramsay Bolton: Canonically the man makes no noise whatsoever but...I'd like to imagine him moaning and growling. He'll take you from behind or put you in the mating press. There's no gentleness when he fucks you, he'll call you the most disgusting things. He loves it when you cry and beg. Honestly I don't know if he likes it better when you beg for him to fuck you or if you beg for him to stop. If you somehow get him to be submissive, take the opportunity to be a bit rough with him for a change. Slap him, or choke him, call him a good boy while you do it too.

[novaursa]

The North Remembers Her

- Summary: He captured you, but you will not allow him to break you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Ramsay Bolton

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for blood, gore and death, Ramsay is also a warning just being him)

- Next part: the vow

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The wind bites like a blade against your skin as you urge your horse forward through the frost-covered woods. The North is yours—truly yours—and it will not bend to those who wear the flayed man. For days now, you’ve disrupted their efforts to snuff out resistance. Small raids, ambushes, stolen supplies—enough to keep the Bolton forces on edge and struggling to bring stability to a North that hates them.

And they should hate them. Your father’s face comes to mind: the steady grey eyes, the quiet honor in his voice. You cling to that image. To his memory. You are your father’s daughter, after all. A Stark of Winterfell.

But you miscalculated tonight. You see it now.

The flames of the Bolton camp lick angrily at the sky, their outline growing distant as you flee. You’d struck quick, torching their stores, and your band had been triumphant—until they weren’t. Until the Bastard of Bolton’s men came roaring through the woods, too swift, too many.

You glance over your shoulder. The forest is thick, snow falling heavily, but you hear the sounds of pursuit: pounding hooves, snapping branches.

“They’re close,” your man, Aedric, growls from beside you. He’s always been steady—stalwart like the pines you ride through. He’s your shield and sword in these dark days, sworn to follow you wherever you go. “Ride hard, my lady.”

My lady.

You hate that. You don’t feel like a lady. Not anymore.

Before you can answer, an arrow whistles past your face, close enough to graze your cheek. It cuts a cold line into your skin. Your horse rears in fright, and you nearly lose your hold. Aedric curses and wheels his mount.

“They have archers!” you hiss, your heart hammering like thunder.

And then you see him—emerging from the trees like a shadow—Ramsay Snow. Or Ramsay Bolton now, you suppose. He sits atop a dark horse, a twisted smirk curled on his lips. He is smaller than you expected beneath his furs, but there’s something hungry in his eyes that makes your stomach turn.

“Run, Stark,” he calls mockingly, his voice carrying clear over the din of the chase. “It’ll make this so much more fun.”

Aedric spurs his horse toward Ramsay, blade in hand. “Go!” he shouts back at you.

“No!” you cry, knowing his intent too late.

He charges, but Ramsay’s men surge forward first, surrounding him. You turn your mount, heart sinking. You see Aedric swing, cleaving one of them from the saddle—but there are too many.

Ramsay watches the slaughter with cold amusement as his men pull Aedric from his horse. You scream as you hear the dull thud of a blow landing, followed by Aedric’s yell—one of defiance and agony.

“Aedric!” your voice cracks.

You urge your horse forward, but something whistles again—a rope—snagging tight around your torso. You’re yanked from the saddle, hitting the ground hard. The air rushes from your lungs. You scramble to rise, but rough hands grab you, hauling you to your knees. Your vision swims.

When you lift your head, it’s just in time to see the final blow. Ramsay steps down from his horse, blade in hand, and approaches Aedric’s broken form.

“You tried so hard, didn’t you?” Ramsay muses softly, crouching beside him. “Loyal dog. Just like a good little wolf.”

Aedric spits blood at his boots. “You’ll die,” he rasps. “Your house will fall, bastard.”

Ramsay grins, eyes alight. “You’ve mistaken me for someone who cares.”

And with one quick motion, he plunges his dagger into Aedric’s throat.

You scream, thrashing in the grip of the soldiers holding you. You don’t stop until they’re forced to strike you hard across the face to silence you.

Ramsay stands and turns to you then, his smirk widening. Blood speckles his gloves and drips slowly from the blade in his hand. He walks toward you with deliberate ease, as if savoring the moment.

“Stubborn little wolf,” he purrs, crouching before you. His gloved fingers grasp your chin, forcing your face upward so he can look into your eyes. “I’ve been hunting you for days. Did you think your little games would last forever?”

“Get your hands off me,” you snarl, glaring defiantly.

Ramsay’s grip tightens. His eyes gleam with something dangerous. “Oh, you’ll learn manners soon enough.” He releases your face with a shove, and you almost fall backward.

“You killed him,” you whisper, choking on the words. “Aedric…”

“Was a bore,” Ramsay interjects dismissively, rising to his feet. “But you? You’re far more interesting. A Stark—running about like a common thief, setting fire to my men’s food. Adorable, really.”

“I’ll see you dead for this,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

Ramsay tilts his head, amusement flickering across his face. “How fierce you are. I wonder—” He steps closer, looming over you. “—how long will that fire last once I take you to Dreadfort?”

You freeze. The words hit you harder than a blow.

“You’ll find the North won’t kneel to your kind,” you spit, trying to hide the fear that gnaws at you.

Ramsay chuckles. “Your kind. My dear—your kind belongs to me now. Everything you are will belong to me.”

He snaps his fingers, and the soldiers wrench you to your feet. Your arms are bound behind your back. You struggle as they tie a length of rope to your wrists, securing you to a horse. Ramsay mounts his own steed, looking down at you with mock pity.

“Careful, little wolf,” he calls as the men tug you forward, forcing you to walk as they ride. “If you stumble, I won’t stop to wait.”

You bite your lip until it bleeds. You do not cry. You will not give him that.

Instead, you look ahead to the dark horizon, to Winterfell—your home—now corrupted. You’ll endure. You must. The North remembers, and you will make Ramsay Bolton regret ever crossing paths with you.

For your father.

For Aedric.

For every soul he’s ever harmed.

And for yourself.

The journey to the Dreadfort is long and bitter, the icy winds gnawing through your torn furs as if eager to flay you themselves. Your wrists ache from the ropes, chafed raw beneath the iron grip of the Bolton soldiers. Snow crunches beneath your boots with each forced step, and every mile feels heavier as the Bastard of Bolton rides ahead, watching you like a hawk watches its prey.

Ramsay Bolton.

You don’t look at him. You won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, your thoughts turn inward, to her—your direwolf. Somewhere out in the snow-covered woods, your loyal companion roams free. You picture her as she was the last time you saw her: a blur of grey and white, her eyes bright with feral intelligence. She was your shadow, your fiercest protector.

“Your wolf’s out there, isn’t she?” Ramsay’s voice cuts through the silence like a jagged blade.

You don’t answer, keeping your gaze fixed on the snow-covered road ahead.

Ramsay makes a low sound of mock disappointment. “So stubborn. It’s almost admirable.” He pulls his horse closer to you, the beast’s breath misting in the cold air as he looks down at you with a lazy smirk. “We’ve been hearing stories, you know. Wolves attacking my men. Tents torn apart. Horses spooked and left bleeding in the snow. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

Still, you say nothing.

He tilts his head, his voice softening to a poisonous whisper. “Tell me, little wolf—what’s her name? Hmm? Does she listen when you call her? Or do you keep her like a secret, just for yourself?”

“She’s smarter than you,” you finally bite out, unable to hold your tongue any longer.

Ramsay’s smile widens. He seems delighted by your defiance. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. Smarter than most of my men, too, it seems. But clever beasts can still be caught. And when I catch her…” He pauses for effect, watching your face carefully. “…I think I’ll make her howl for you before I flay her.”

Your blood goes cold. You snap your head up to glare at him, teeth bared. “Touch her and I’ll tear your throat out.”

Ramsay bursts into laughter, the sound sharp and cruel. “There’s the fire! You remind me of a cornered fox. Snapping and snarling, even when the hounds have you.” He leans closer, the reins held loosely in his hands. “But what will you do when the hounds close in, Stark? When they drag her down? Because they will.”

You keep your gaze steady, refusing to flinch. “She won’t be caught.”

“She will.” His tone is confident, mocking. “They always are. They’re predictable that way, animals. And when I catch her, I’ll make a cloak of her pelt. Maybe I’ll wear it when I take you to Winterfell.”

“You’ll wear your own skin before you wear hers.”

Ramsay’s amusement falters just slightly, his lips twitching as if he wants to sneer. He doesn’t. Instead, his expression smooths over into something calmer. Colder. More dangerous.

“You know,” he says softly, “my hounds don’t eat wolves. Too much fight in them.” His pale blue eyes lock with yours, unblinking. “But I wonder… would she eat you?”

You want to lunge for him, to strike him, to wipe that smug smile from his face. But the ropes dig into your wrists, and the soldiers pull you roughly forward again, forcing you to stumble.

Hours pass before the distant silhouette of the Dreadfort rises from the gloom. Its tall walls loom like dark shadows against the bleak sky. The sigil of House Bolton—the flayed man—flutters high above the gates, crimson against white. You force yourself not to look at it. The dread creeps into your chest anyway.

Ramsay dismounts as the gates creak open, his furs and leathers immaculate despite the journey. He moves with unsettling energy, gesturing for his men to drag you forward. You stumble as they push you through the muddy courtyard. The smell here is sharp and rancid—blood, rot, and smoke. You hear the muffled cries of prisoners carried on the wind, punctuated by the howling of hounds.

Lord Roose Bolton awaits you on the steps.

His face is pale and expressionless, as though carved from stone. The Lord of the Dreadfort regards you with his colorless eyes, unreadable in their scrutiny.

“Father,” Ramsay calls as he strides forward, gesturing toward you as if presenting a gift. “The last of the Starks. And quite a troublesome one at that.”

Roose’s gaze shifts to you, slow and deliberate. He says nothing at first, his face betraying no emotion. “You’ve been causing my men problems,” he finally states, his voice quiet, even.

“You’re not my lord,” you say defiantly, meeting his gaze. “And you took land that is not yours to have.”

Roose’s lips twitch faintly—a ghost of a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “That much is clear.” He turns to Ramsay. “Where did you find her?”

“Burning supplies,” Ramsay answers with a grin. “Her and a loyal little knight. He was less amusing. I dealt with him.”

Roose gives his son a sharp glance. “Careless. You should have taken him alive. The North won’t be won with Stark blood alone.”

Ramsay’s smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes flicker with something… dark. He doesn’t answer, instead turning back to you. “The direwolf is still out there,” he offers. “Her pet. Roaming free, tearing at our men.”

Roose raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening on you. “Is this true?”

You press your lips together, saying nothing.

Roose studies you for a long moment before looking at his son. “You will keep her alive. For now.”

Ramsay’s face falls just slightly. “And what of her wolf?”

Roose steps closer to you, his expression cold and calculating. “The wolf will be hunted. And when it is found, it will die.”

You don’t let your face betray you. You keep your chin high, though your stomach twists into knots.

She’ll escape. She must.

Ramsay watches your silence with growing amusement. As the soldiers drag you toward the keep, he calls after you, his voice laced with dark delight.

“She’ll howl for you soon, Stark. I can’t wait to see if you howl back.”

The hall of the Dreadfort is as cold as the stone that forms its walls. Candles flicker weakly against the oppressive dark, their flames struggling to push back the shadows clinging to every corner. There’s no warmth here, no comfort. Only the sharp smell of roasted meat and the heavy silence that hangs between the occupants of the long dining table.

You sit at one end, your wrists finally free of bindings, but the freedom means little. You’re surrounded. Ramsay sits directly across from you, his sharp grin flashing whenever your eyes happen to meet his. Beside him is Reek—Theon Greyjoy as you once knew him, though this version of him is no more than a shell of the boy who grew up with you in Winterfell.

You don’t know what’s worse: the way he refuses to meet your gaze or the way part of you still hates him for his betrayal.

At the head of the table sits Lord Roose Bolton, stoic and calm, his eyes pale and unreadable. To his right, Lady Walda picks at her food. She is rotund and pink-cheeked, her smile small but earnest, as if she doesn’t understand the wolves that surround her. Or perhaps she simply doesn’t care.

The scrape of a knife against a plate grates at your ears. Ramsay smirks as he slices into his meat, holding the bite aloft on his fork.

“You’re eating so little, my lady,” he drawls, his voice sweet and taunting. “Surely you must be hungry after a week in our fine hospitality.”

You don’t answer, your gaze fixed on your untouched plate. The food smells fine enough—roasted venison, bread, and boiled greens—but you can’t bring yourself to lift a finger. The air itself seems poisoned, and each bite feels like it might choke you.

Ramsay laughs under his breath. “Such manners. Would you rather I feed you myself?”

“Enough,” Roose says softly. The word is barely louder than the crackle of the hearth, but Ramsay straightens immediately, though the grin doesn’t leave his face.

Roose sets his fork down with deliberate care, turning his pale gaze toward you. “You’ve caused much disruption since the war, Lady Stark,” he begins, his voice smooth and low, betraying nothing. “But you are a daughter of Winterfell. That gives you… value.”

You stiffen at his words, fingers curling tightly in your lap. “I’m of no value to you.”

Roose ignores your defiance. “My bannermen require stability. With the North in chaos, alliances must be secured. My initial plan was for Ramsay to wed Sansa Stark, but I see now that would not be wise.”

Your breath stills. You feel Ramsay’s eyes burning into you even before Roose says the words that steal the air from your lungs.

“You will marry Ramsay.”

The words echo in your ears like a death knell. You stare at Roose, disbelief and fury flooding your chest. For a long, painful moment, all you can hear is the low hum of the fire and the clink of Lady Walda’s fork as she awkwardly sets it down.

“No,” you say, your voice shaking. “I’ll never—”

“You will,” Roose interrupts coolly, his gaze sharpening. “A Stark under this roof lends legitimacy to my rule. Your presence will quell some resistance. For the good of the North, this is how it must be.”

You lurch to your feet, the chair scraping against the stone floor, but Ramsay is quicker. He stands, slamming his palm against the table, his laughter sharp and grating.

“Did you hear that, Father?” he mocks. “She refuses me. How rude.”

“I will never marry him,” you say again, louder this time. Your voice shakes, but you force steel into it. “You can kill me first.”

Ramsay’s grin widens as he rounds the table, approaching you. “Oh, come now, little wolf. You’d be such a pretty bride. Don’t you want to wear white? Isn’t that the Stark way?” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll even let you choose the color of the cloak for the bedding ceremony.”

Before you can answer—or strike him—Roose speaks again, cutting through the moment like a blade.

“Sit down.”

His voice is cold and calm, but it carries an unspoken threat. Slowly, you sink back into your seat, though your heart hammers violently in your chest. Ramsay lingers by your side for a moment longer, letting the weight of his presence suffocate you, before retreating with a smirk.

“This is for the good of the North,” Roose says again, his tone measured. “You may not see it now, but in time—”

“You think the North will accept this?” you cut in, glaring at him. “You think they’ll kneel to the flayed man because I’m paraded as your son’s bride? You don’t understand the North at all.”

Roose raises a pale brow, his expression unreadable. “The North remembers, yes. But memory fades when bellies go empty and fields are burned. Stability is survival. You are a means to that end.”

You feel the weight of Ramsay’s gaze on you again, watching your every breath, every flinch. You refuse to look at him. Instead, your eyes land on Reek, slouched in his seat at Ramsay’s side. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move. He stares at the table, thin and ragged, as if his very presence is an apology.

Your chest burns as you look at him—Theon Greyjoy. The boy you trusted, the boy who betrayed your family, who took your home and destroyed everything you loved. Hatred bubbles up like bile in your throat, but beneath it is something else: pity.

He feels your gaze, because he shifts slightly, his hands trembling where they rest on his lap. He doesn’t meet your eyes. He won’t.

“You can’t even look at me, can you?” you say softly, the words escaping before you can stop them.

Ramsay’s head snaps toward Reek, his grin widening as though your words have given him fresh amusement. “Look at her,” he orders, his tone mocking and sharp.

Theon flinches, his sunken eyes darting up to you briefly, hollow and ashamed. Then his gaze drops again, staring at the empty plate in front of him like a whipped dog.

“Good boy,” Ramsay croons, clapping him hard on the shoulder. Theon shudders at the touch but doesn’t react otherwise.

You turn away, disgust curling in your stomach as Ramsay resumes his seat.

“This is your choice, Lady Stark,” Roose says evenly. “You can resist all you like, but it will change nothing. The wedding will happen.”

You look at Roose Bolton—Lord of the Dreadfort, murderer of your brother, betrayer of the North—and feel a hatred so deep it makes your blood run cold. Then you look at Ramsay, his smirk carved into his pale face, as though he’s already won.

But they haven’t.

Not yet.

The North remembers. And so do you.